


One for Valentine's

by Elphen



Series: Say it with gifts [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confused Sherlock, Considerate John, Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Insecure Sherlock, Insecurity, John Makes Deductions, John being a good boyfriend, Love, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Presents, Sequel, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Sweet, Valentine's Day, Worried Sherlock, sherlock tries his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: It's Valentine's Day, though Sherlock isn't aware of that and they've nothing planned for the day. Nevertheless, he finds a gift from John to him that is once again both practical and personal. But John isn't home and has left no card or other notes.So...why has he chosen to give Sherlock a gift on this day, after all? Why hasn't he said anything? What does he expect from Sherlock and how should Sherlock respond?A sequel to "Gifts from the Heart" but can probably be read as a stand-alone :)





	One for Valentine's

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's, everyone.  
> I still suck at titles. :)  
> As I might have mentioned elsewhere, things have been...interesting in my life lately. So, to try and cheer myself up, I wrote this little thing to follow Gifts from the Heart. It helped, some. :) Hopefully it does feel like it fits, as I did try. :)

“John? John!”

John wasn’t there. Why wasn’t he there? Shouting louder for him didn’t yield any results, either.

With an annoyed huff, he launched himself upright from his bed. Well, their bed, really, ever since Christmas Eve. It had been a bit of a contentious subject when he’d unceremoniously stripped John’s bed of the bedding just before they’d reached New Year’s Eve and had dumped it onto his. When the doctor had come home and found out, he’d been none too pleased, which had mystified Sherlock.

Apparently, he couldn’t just _decide_ things like that on his own. He’d failed to see the problem as John hadn’t slept in the bed since Christmas and quite frankly, he’d said, he didn’t like having to share the pillow.

John had pointed out that since he so abhorred sleeping anyway, he didn’t really have to share in the first place. Sherlock had easily returned that he didn’t need to sleep to enjoy spending time in bed anymore, to which John hadn’t

In the end, they’d agreed to leave John’s duvet in his bedroom and share Sherlock’s while they kept their own pillows. Nevertheless, the blond complained that Sherlock hogged both pillows, which was utter nonsense.

But John wasn’t in bed now, even though Sherlock was. It turned out he wasn’t even in the flat when the brunet started to look for him.

Why wasn’t he in the flat? Sherlock needed him, he ought to be where he was needed. It was well into the morning, so…

It finally occurred to him that John probably had a shift at that tedious job of his. Why he kept bothering with it, he really had no idea. He should be at home, with Sherlock, and the consulting detective was going to make that happen.

He’d hadn’t counted on just how rewarding having someone that was willing to be physically close with him, and especially not how much he’d ended up craving it but in the time since Christmas he’d certainly made that discovery. In fact, he now lightly feared that he’d found a new addiction in John Watson. A new aspect, at least.

For him to convince John to come home, though, he needed his phone, which…wasn’t in either of the pockets of the hanten. Did he put it in a pocket? No, of course he didn’t. He’d left on the coffee table the night before because John had been adamant that he didn’t want to be interrupted during sex by an inopportune text from Lestrade. Again. Sherlock could either leave it where he couldn’t see it, or he could get himself off. The choice was his.

The coffee table didn’t hold his phone. Nor did the sofa or any of the stacks of clutter littering the living room. He frowned.

Where could it have gone? He _knew_ he had put it on the coffee table, they hadn’t been burgled and John wouldn’t take his phone, except perhaps to make a point.

Was John making a point? What point? He could have missed something that the doctor deemed important and so was being unduly punished for it.

That didn’t tally with the sex yesterday evening, though, and they hadn’t spoken between John falling asleep and now. It would then have to be connected with this day in particular. Was there something special about this day, then?

Bereft of his phone and their wall calendar lost in the one set of case notes or other, he fished out his laptop to check the date.

February 14th. His frown deepened. If there was anything special about that date, he didn’t remember.

He was about to look it up just be sure when the buzz of what was almost certainly an incoming text on a phone could be heard. His head whipped up, his eyes fixed in the direction of the sound.

There. On the mantelpiece. Even among the usual clutter, it was easy to spot that had something had been added. That was mostly because it had been wrapped, though, the brightness of the paper standing out well.

Why on earth would John get the idea to wrap his phone? It didn’t make any sense whatsoever.

Curious despite himself, Sherlock walked over quickly and grabbed the device. Ripping off the paper and failing to see the gift tag attached, he revealed the screen just as another text ticked in. Both were from John.

The first read:

_Morning, Sherlock. I’m guessing you’ve already found this some time ago, providing you bothered getting up. I know it’s just a small thing but you’re so difficult to…Anyway, hope you like it._

Like it? Like what? His own phone? Why would he wrap up his own phone? Was John so fed up with him deducing presents that he’d decided to just wrap up stuff Sherlock had already? He hadn’t guessed the hanten, so his logic was decidedly faulty.

He looked at the second one, puzzled.

_I’ll pick up something nice for dinner. Think that’s probably better for everyone than going out tonight, all things considered. Got any preferences?_

This was only getting odder. Why would today of all days be a bad day to go out for dinner on? They’d never bothered before, so why now?

Getting a better grip on the phone, he finally picked up that something was off about it. The front was the same – that small blotch of bile that had proved impossible to get off was there – and so was the cover, the same…

No. It wasn’t the same. The cover felt different to hold and the weight had changed.

Why? Well, obviously the cover had been changed but to what purpose?

He then saw that it was a case rather than a cover, a flip case, to be precise. That shouldn’t add to the weight in itself, but now that he was actually paying attention to what he’d been picking up all along, the weight and bulk was centred on the middle of the flip part.

Flipping it back over, it clicked into place.

John hadn’t gifted him his own phone. He’d been much more considerate than that, finding a gift just for Sherlock.

The case, a black leather one of relatively good quality, had something attached to it. More specifically, it had a metal ornament, gold plated if he was any judge, on the middle of it. One that depicted a mostly anatomically correct bee.

Sherlock stared. A bee. He’d gotten him a phone case, of high quality, with a bee on it.

How had John known? He knew for certain that he’d never told John about his interest in bees and especially not of his half-formed dream of someday, hopefully far into the future, once they were both old and creaking, retiring to a cottage or similar and raising bees. It was rather sentimental, he knew, but once the idea had lodged itself in his mind, it had adamantly refused to go away.

He hadn’t broached that subject with John, not yet. He was going to one day, hopefully, provided John still wanted to be around him at that point, which wasn’t as much of a certainty as Sherlock would like to pretend outwardly. The vision he’d had had of course included the doctor, but that was hardly the same thing.

Ignoring that for the moment, the question still remained of why of all possible decorations for a phone cover, John had chosen that one. Why not a skull or possibly a violin, if he still wanted something that was related to Sherlock? That would still be a little bit sentimental but that would not only fit with John’s normal behaviour, it would make a lot more sense.

Could it have been a mere coincidence then, that he’d just happened to choose that image? No, it was too specific to be a random choice but there hadn’t been anything for him to cotton on to Sherlock’s fondness for bees, either.

Puzzling.

He smoothed his fingers over the metal insect once, twice, three times, not quite aware how reverently he did it. It was clearly not just something found on a whim down the nearest T-Mobile, which only added to the puzzlement.

One thing he could find out what why John had decided to get him something, and not just presented him with it without any fuss as would be usual, on this of all days.

It was stupidly easy to find that out and to be honest, he probably should have realized sooner. Then again, he didn’t bother with visiting any store that was likely to fill its shelves with such fripperies.

Valentine’s day…the day of happy couples.

Suddenly, John’s text as well as his gift made a whole lot more sense. The restaurants were bound to be filled to the brim with couples desperate to consolidate and showcase more or less dysfunctional and hypocritical relationships both to themselves and, more importantly, the world around them. As though that would somehow make up for the deficiencies of the other and excuse their own numerous shortcomings.

And there he probably had the reason John wouldn’t be taking him out for dinner. Shame. Angelo could likely be persuaded to give a discount or something similar if they went out together on a night like this.

But his doctor had cared enough about the date to find another special gift for him and was prepared to make something of this day, with Sherlock. Because they were officially a couple, it seemed.

Interesting.

That knowledge wasn’t the end of it, though.

 _Will John be upset that I haven’t found anything for him?_ he wondered, finger again smoothing over the metal without his conscious knowledge. _But he knows that I don’t care about things like that, regardless of the importance the rest of the world and supermarkets in particular puts on a stupid **date** , so he can’t be expecting a gift. Yet he still found one for me. Why? Does he expect it, after all? Is it paramount that it is reciprocated?_

He realized that no matter his own feelings on the subject and John’s knowledge of his usual behaviour, to only provide gifts or reciprocate with one when he was cornered and unable to escape was not a good strategy.

_Should I try to find him one, then, despite the limited time? Wouldn’t it reek of exactly what it is? What would I even find him? Good grief, why does normal relationships have to be so complicated? Give me a serial killer any day._

It’d been enough of a problem finding him something for Christmas and now, less than two months later, he was expected to find something else?

_John’s found something for you, something that you’ll find useful yet is significant to only you, without any prompting, so what precisely are you throwing a fit over?_

He thought it sounded like Mycroft but that might be just because he didn’t like that it was right. It was always easier to dismiss Mycroft’s ideas.

That didn’t leave him any time, though. Not that he couldn’t find something that was worthy of John, of course, he wasn’t that sappy, and it helped that it didn’t have to convey his feelings quite like the Christmas gift had had to. Still, though, it had to be personal. Or rather, it had to fit as well to John as John’s gift had to Sherlock.

Something small, then, practical but personal. Something that could be procured in London in the few hours left until John came home. Given the fact that he was stopping to pick up dinner, that gave an extra…forty-two minutes, though it’d more likely be fifty-four, since he’d be in a good mood and therefore more likely to flirt with random shop assistants.

Sherlock felt something seethe in the pit of his stomach at that thought and did his best to quash it. John’s flirting was harmless – and he’d told him dangerously calmly at some point, perhaps last week, when he’d made a comment, that if the consulting detective was going to flirt with people while on cases, John could flirt with others to be friendly.

That still left some time but not enough for anything made from scratch. What could that something then possibly be? A holster for his gun? No, that was stupid. He wasn’t supposed to have that gun. A holster would require him to wear it visibly somehow. That he wouldn’t risk, quite apart from the minute thrill under the practicality of it.

What, then?

He felt tempted to just ignore it, pretend he hadn’t found out what day it was. Sorely tempted, in fact. After all, what did John expect?

 _That you’d be a good and considerate boyfriend, at the very least_ , the inner voice piped up again, once more sounding very Mycroft-y, much to Sherlock’s annoyance. _If you want any chance of having him still with you when you retire, bees or not, you might want to put some actual effort into this relationship._

He did! He had! There’d been the moving of the bedding, for one. Cooked dinners…well, no, bought dinners, but still, the thought was there, and he’d done that without prompting. He’d even initiated sex a few times, too, though it admittedly had been John who’d ended up taking charge…with quite spectacular results, it had to be said.

The point, though, he was coming to realize in a relatively rare moment of emotional introspection, was that John still bore the lion’s share of the relationship and the work that came with it.

Of course, it wasn’t because the change had been immense. Quite a lot of daily life progressed as it always did at 221B Baker Street, which made it impossible to call it ordinary. But a lot of little things had changed since Christmas, all of which he’d found very agreeable indeed. Especially the unprovoked touches and kisses that could happen at any and all times.

So, given all of that, didn’t he more than owe it to John to find him something?

_Technically, you owe him to have thought of buying him something first, under your own steam, don’t you?_

_Oh, shut up, Mycroft!_

He was making the effort, that was what mattered. Right? Right!

That still left him with the conundrum of what he ought to buy and, not unimportantly, what he could realistically manage to buy in the time left.

The longer he stood here, indecisive, the less time he had. He was a genius and what was more, he knew John. He would find something. All he needed was a bit of inspiration.

Decision made, he dashed about to get ready, then hurried out and down the stairs, ignoring the calling of Mrs. Hudson as he went.

He would find a good Valentine’s Day gift for John, no matter what it took!

 

* * *

 

It was quiet in the flat when John came home that evening, laden down with quite the helping of takeaway food and a few other things. That didn’t mean that nobody was home, though, which the doctor was perfectly aware of.

The limited amount of light turned on was no indicator either, but it did mean that it was slightly harder to work out what was furniture and clutter and what was a lanky human being doing his best attempt at nonchalant, which was just as well, as Sherlock rather felt like hiding, and not just himself, either.

Of course, that wasn’t taking John into account.

“I know you’re there, Sherlock. I can see you just fine. Stop acting like a vampire scarecrow and come help me with these things.”

The brunet didn’t answer.

He could hear a sigh, then the crinkle of plastic bags as they were put down onto a surface. A few moments later arms slid around him from behind.

“Overdid it, did I?” John said, voice quiet. Again, he got no answer. “I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean for it to weird you out. I just found it and – “

“How did you know about the bees?” Sherlock interrupted, the question almost spilling out of him. “I haven’t told anyone about it, I know that, so how did you know?”

He could hear the smile in John’s voice as he answered. “You’re not the only one who can look at someone’s search history, you know. Well, that and your fondness for honey – oh, and the fact that you keep mumbling about honeycombs and smokers in your sleep, of course. Was what initially tipped me off, really.”

Sherlock turned around to face his partner. “You never said anything about me talking in my sleep,” he said, almost accusatorily.

“True,” John conceded with a shrug, still smiling as he looked at the other man. “Didn’t say anything about your habit of being pressed up against me and following me if I move or the small snuffles you produce when you snore, either.”

As Sherlock’s face started to screw up, John snorted a laugh. “Give over, you toff. I didn’t say I _minded_ , did I? Just because you love to point out how annoying my sleeping habits are doesn’t mean that I’ve got to return the favour. I’m sorry if it wasn’t something I was supposed to know about, though. The bees, I mean.”

The consulting detective frowned in obvious incomprehension.

“Right, okay, fair enough. It’s not easy knowing with you, though.” He paused to squeeze the waist his arms were still encircling. “Come on, let’s go eat before it gets stone cold. You never told me what you’d like so I stopped by Angelo’s on the way, thought that he might be persuaded to whip up something particularly nice for us tonight. Got to hear him grumble about not being able to do it properly but he did it.”

He made to pull away but lanky arms wrapping around him in turn put a stop to that.

“I’m really starving, Sherlock, come on, let go.”

“Only if you stay put for a moment.”

John frowned but didn’t argue. He watched silently as Sherlock went around, turning on the various lamps in the living room. As he did so, it slowly became clear what he’d been up to.

To be honest, it was a wonder that John had somehow managed to put his bags of food down somewhere that wasn’t already filled, either with clutter that hadn’t been cleared or with what Sherlock had set up.

John stared. “Christ – where did all of this come from?”

“From a shop, John, honestly,” Sherlock answered, puffing up slightly.

“I know that, that wasn’t what I meant. What brought this on was what I meant.”

The puff grew more pronounced. “You were the one who made me aware of the day,” Sherlock said, trying and failing not to sound defensive, “and decided that we were apparently celebrating it this year, complete with…well. You tell me.”

John looked at him, not saying anything as he took his partner in. Though he didn’t quite manage the same sharpness that Sherlock did, it wasn’t dissimilar. In any case, it was enough for Sherlock to get ever so slightly uncomfortable under the gaze. Though that might also have something to do with how he wasn’t at all confident about what he had done.

The spread on the table was one thing, though undeniably not an insignificant one, but what was the clincher, as it were, was the gift that had finally been placed on the seat of John’s chair. Or rather, and most importantly, _gifts._

Why hadn’t he been able to make a choice? No, that wasn’t it. Why had he worried that one wouldn’t be good enough? Why was he having so much trouble? Relationships were easy and predictable, even romantic ones, he shouldn’t have any problems.

_But this is John we’re talking about and your relationship with him. Is that predictable, too? Would you rather not have it after all?_

_Of course not, don’t be absurd!_

“Sherlock? Sherlock?”

He blinked and focused back on the doctor’s face, crinkled up in worry and soft fondness. “Hm?”

“Don’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“Really?” John raised an eyebrow. “Your breathing and darting eyes say otherwise.”

He smiled and moved up close again. “It’s fine, love. Somewhat unexpected but it’s very sweet of you to buy all of those for us, when you don’t care about trappings like that. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or obligated, but I really appreciate it. Thank you.” The last few words were emphasized, meaningfully, John looking him straight in the eye, letting him know he was not pulling his leg.

“Let’s get some proper food before we devour an entire tableful of baked goods, though, yeah?” he added after a pause.

Sherlock swallowed. “Okay.”

Well, if John had only spotted the baked goods he’d been all over to get, that was something. He’d buy that that was a genuine endeavour on the detective’s part to celebrate the day and its new significance to them, since they’d become a couple, in their own way; that it was in its way his gift.

Perhaps that meant he could just about manage to hide the gifts away before John found out and he’d be none the wiser, ever.

But of course, he wasn’t that lucky. Instead of going directly to sit on the sofa as might be expected, John decided that he ought to divest himself of his jacket and shoes before sitting down for dinner and put them back in their proper place, too, of course.

That meant walking past their two chairs and with the lights now on, he couldn’t fail to spot the wrapped items sitting innocuously in his chair.

Sure enough, he’d only managed to get about halfway past the piece of furniture when he paused, frowned, then backtracked to confirm what he thought he’d seen. Sherlock watched him silently, feeling somewhat frozen to the spot.

Was it going to feel like this every time? He wasn’t sure he could cope with that. In fact, he felt damn certain that he couldn’t.

John lifted one of the three parcels carefully. There was a very nice bow on it but no gift tag. After all, it wasn’t as though Sherlock was likely to forget who he was giving it to.

The blond shot his partner a look that was soft and warm but otherwise revealed nothing.

“For me?” he asked softly, and Sherlock could only nod, eyes fixed on the gift in John’s hands.

He had to swallow again when John started opening the wrapping. When he’d opened up the paper, he stopped and seemed to just look at it, still with no words or discernible expression.

“John?” Sherlock finally queried, his resolve cracking.

When John looked up, the lamplight revealed his eyes were glistening slightly.

“You…you did this today, didn’t you?” he asked and again, Sherlock could only nod. “Sherlock…” he said then trailed off, as though unsure of what to say further. That didn’t help the uncertainty churning in the pit of Sherlock’s stomach.

“I can take it back,” the brunet said suddenly, the words almost tumbling out of him.

“What? No, you can’t.”

“I can,” he insisted. “If I forfeit the money, then I’m sure that – “

“Sherlock, shut up,” John interrupted, and the mouth clicked shut. “I didn’t mean that you couldn’t because of shop policies, though, granted, probably that’s going to be tricky. I meant you can’t because…” he paused, probably for dramatic effort, the bastard, “I’ll fight you over it.”

Sherlock frowned at that, which made the doctor smile, though there was a minutely sad tinge to it, as though he’d figured something else out about it that he didn’t altogether like. He didn’t say anything out loud, though.

Instead he walked, gift still in hand, back over to his partner. Once in front of him, he stopped and, keeping their gazes locked, lifted the gift from the wrapping. He let the paper fall and wrapped the scarf around not his own neck but that of Sherlock. Then he leant up, keeping a grip on the ends of the scarf, and planted a solid kiss on the cupid bow lips.

“You idiot,” he said fondly when they parted. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“ _You_ did.” Sherlock felt that was a very important point to make.

“True,” John conceded, “I did.”

“But you didn’t expect me to reciprocate? Why not?”

It was John’s turn to frown. “Don’t give me that. When have you ever had anything but scorn for such days as this?”

“Yet you found me something, anyway. And not just anything, either, but something just for me, that I would use and appreciate, and you presented it to me on this day of all days, despite the fact that it was clearly bought from another country, judging by the glue I would say –”

“Alright, alright, I get it. No deducing. Please. Yeah, I did find you something. I…” John paused, seeming to think, then made a face. “I just wanted to celebrate the day, alright? But you don’t and if I’d brought it up, you’d have ripped it up with statistics of how many people break up on such days and facts about Saint Valentine – “

“I don’t know anything about any saints.”

“Not the point and shut up, let me finish. I still wanted to mark the day, with you, though, so I thought that doing it like this might be a…well, a good compromise, somehow.” He paused then shrugged, a little defeated. “Obviously not quite, though.”

Silence ruled for a few moments.

“I…I liked the gift,” Sherlock said finally, his voice quiet but surprisingly earnest. “Very much.”

He paused briefly. “It’s true that I don’t care about specific dates or fulfilling a given task merely because that day has rolled around. But…if it means something to you, then I want to. I want to do it.”

“You shouldn’t do it merely for the sake of someone else.”

“I’m not! You’re not someone else, John, you’re _you,_ and you’re my…my partner. If it means something to you, then it means something to me and I want to do it.”

John’s face slowly lit up in that smile that sent Sherlock’s heart skipping like a stone across water. “That’s…not really like you, though.”

Sherlock huffed. “Just because I rarely voice it doesn’t mean I rarely feel it.” He’d proven that to John more than once over the last two months.

John positively grinned at that. “Alright, fair enough. Still, I don’t think a phone cover with a metal bee can quite live up to a top-quality wool scarf that’s been bleeding well hand-embroidered with initials.”

“Monogram – and it’s not merely metal, it’s gold.”

“If you want to be pedantic, it’s gilded, and the point remains, you got my initials monogrammed into a scarf in an afternoon. That rather trumps a cover.”

“It’s not about one thing trumping the other.” Sherlock hesitated. “I couldn’t think of anything that was quite as thoughtful as yours,” he admitted.

“Oh, I think you managed that alright.” He leaned up for another kiss, which Sherlock was happy to give, and even happier to deepen and lengthen. While they snogged, he unwound the scarf from his own neck and wrapped it around John’s.

When they pulled apart, Sherlock took in his handiwork. He’d been right in his assessment; the deep, warm red thread of merino wool looked perfect against John’s skin, still warm and a tad golden even all this time back in bleak Britain. The gold thread of the embroidered monogram, well designed and expertly applied, was bright enough to clearly make out the letters but not so bright and shiny as to be garish. It spoke of quality but understated and true. Just like John.

The doctor must’ve caught the look in his eye because an eyebrow rose, and the hint of a smirk ghosted across his lips. Sherlock stared back with an answering smirk.

“Now, seriously, let’s eat,” John said. “I don’t think Angelo’s going to be very pleased with us if we ruin his efforts by not eating it while it’s even moderately warm.”

“Can’t.” There was the smallest hint of a smile.

“You’re not on a case. You can eat and you’re going to eat. Come on.” He tugged at the scarf.

The smile grew. “Can’t. You still have the rest to unwrap.”

“That can wait until after dinner. Surgery’s been hell today and I’m genuinely starving.”

“It’s only two presents.”

“Oh, alright, fine. Don’t start complaining that it isn’t warm when you eat it, then – and if we’re going to eat all those baked goods you raided M&S for, you’re staying put to watch something with me.”

_“Fine.”_

“You’re the one who bought it all,” John pointed out.

“I was trying to be a good boyfriend.” There was a definite note of sulking in the voice.

John smiled softly. “You are, love.”

They settled down to eat, John still wearing the scarf, though he’d discarded his jacket, and Sherlock balancing the phone on his thigh, cover visible.

“John?” Sherlock said halfway through eating the rather generous helping of food the blond had heaped onto his plate. He could already feel his stomach, still not used to too substantial a mean, protesting.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

The doctor blinked then gave a very small snort. “Figures you’d choose to say it for the first time on a day like this and still put it like you’re telling me ‘I’m hungry’.”

“That is a statement of fact. So is ‘I love you’. How is that a problem?”

After a moment, John snorted a chuckle. “It’s not and it is very you, I have to admit.”

A pause.

“You haven’t said it back yet.”

“Well, no. Am I obligated to?”

Sherlock’s brow started to knit. Then he saw the sparkle in those blue eyes and his expression cleared.

“I love you too, Sherlock. Very much so. Happy Valentine’s.”

“Happy Valentine’s, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> The phone cover is a real thing and can be found here: https://www.etsy.com/dk-en/listing/259739022/iphone-7-plus-wallet-case-iphone-7  
> I found it ages ago and thought it'd be a perfect little thing for Sherlock. :)  
> Oh, and this is what I imagined the monogram to look like (though perhaps a bit less flowery): http://c8.alamy.com/comp/BPDBYK/monogram-jw-BPDBYK.jpg
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this, I certainly enjoyed writing it.  
> Feedback is dearly loved and treasured :D


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